


All the Time in the World

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: John moves back in to 221B Baker Street after everything that has happened.  This is what happens when the two of them realize the other might just love them back and now they have the rest of their lives together.





	All the Time in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings,
> 
> This is just a fluffy little fic I wrote when I was having a crumby day and I just got around to editing it. There's no real plot but the idea of this happening makes my heart happy anyway. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd and not britpicked, as ever all mistakes are my own. Comments and concrit are welcomed and encouraged. 
> 
> Blessings <3

The trouble was that Sherlock was irrecoverably in love with John Watson.

He knew John wasn't interested in him that way but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from loving John. The truth was he’d tried everything to get himself to stop but then John would show up and he’d be a goner again, just like one of the fools he'd spent so much of his life mocking. There was nothing on earth that Sherlock wouldn’t have traded for just one day in which John loved him with even half of the intensity with which he loved John.

He’d been surprised when John had casually told him that he and Rosie were moving into 221B again. He’d been thrilled, to be sure, but very surprised. He’d been equally surprised by how easily they all slotted into one another’s lives, how easy it had been for him to come to adore Rosie with his entire being. Their lives had been exceptionally simple in their merger. Truth be told, Sherlock was waiting for the other shoe to drop; nothing this good could ever last. Nonetheless, Sherlock couldn’t think of a time when he’d been happier than he was now.

One night, though, when they’d been living together for eight months and they’d worked out all of the challenges of getting reacquainted with sharing the same space and adding in a toddler, things changed again. John had come back downstairs from putting Rosie to bed and flopped into his chair.

“I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight,” he mumbled, his eyes closed and head tilted back against the headrest on the chair. He looked exhausted, Sherlock noted, he’d continued working at the clinic, he was helping Sherlock solve cases, and he was a single parent. “If you could keep the noise to a dull roar while you’re experimenting tonight that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John opened one eye to look at him, “Not all of us can sleep through a tornado, Sherlock. You’re experiments can get loud on occasion.”

“No,” Sherlock said with a shake of the head, “I meant why are you sleeping on the sofa.”

“Oh,” John said, closing his eye again, “I’ve been waking Rosie up every night I've gone in for the past few weeks and then it takes her half an hour to fall back asleep again.” He shook his head, “And when she wakes up and sees me there she just wanted to chatter and play. It’s not worth it, I’m exhausted and I would rather sleep on our sofa.”

“That’s ridiculous.  Your shoulder will never be able to take it; neither will your hips," Sherlock informed him.

“My hips?” John asked indignantly, his head snapping up to look at Sherlock with a glare. “What about my hips?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You’re not 25, John. Mark my words, if you sleep on the sofa you’ll wake up with your hips aching and you’ll be hobbling around like an old man all day, you might as well grow out that horrendous mustache again.”

John glared at him for a moment before he snorted and started giggling, “You’re a wanker.”

Sherlock shrugged, “But I’m right.”

“You probably are,” John conceded, “But it doesn’t make me any happier about it. What’s your suggestion then, all knowing one?”

“Sleep in my bed.”

John blinked at him, his cheeks colouring faintly. He cleared his throat, and his head tilted to the left in a gesture that was as familiar to Sherlock as his own face in the mirror, “Pardon me?”

“Sleep in my bed,” Sherlock said again. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said with a shrug, “If I decide to sleep, that is. I do have a few things that I need to finish up this evening and I never really know whether I’m going to sleep or not,” he lied. He had every intention sleeping tonight, he hadn’t slept last night and he wasn’t as young as he used to be and the sad truth was that he found himself slinking into bed every night and sleeping for at least six hours a night.

“You can’t fool me,” John said, “I know you go in to bed most nights, you’re not as young as you used to be either.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, always surprised when John happened to observe something important.

“I can’t possibly accept that,” John said, “We’ll figure something else out. You’re still skinny as can be, I’m sure your scrawny arse wouldn't last one night on the sofa.”

Sherlock laughed, but John wasn’t wrong Sherlock had found that even lying out on the sofa and puzzling over things could make his own hip ache if he stayed that way long enough. “There’s no other solution,” Sherlock said simply. “Not without one of us moving out and I’ve no intention of seeing that happen.”

“Me either,” John said softly, looking up at Sherlock with such tenderness that Sherlock couldn’t help the warmth that spread in the pit of his stomach.

“The obvious solution is that we could just share,” Sherlock blurted before he could help himself. “As strictly platonic bedmates, of course, until we can come up with a more suitable arrangement.”

John stared at him for a long moment and Sherlock felt himself grow more nervous with every heartbeat.  He had to physically fight the urge to fidget under John's gaze.

“Yeah, alright,” John said after what felt like an eternity. “As long as you’re sure it’s not weird.”

Sherlock snorted, “It’s fine.”

John nodded, “Right, well I’m knackered.” He patted his knees once and stood up, glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock, “Coming?”

“Did you want me to?” Sherlock asked in confusion.

John shrugged, “If you want.”

And it had been that easy, as everything in their life seemed to be. The arrangement had worked out fairly well, truthfully, and Sherlock convinced John to let them take turns getting up at night when Rosie cried. John had felt guilty but Sherlock had won in the end.

Their lives had continued that way for months and Sherlock had found (unsurprisingly) that he rather loved having John in his bed. He liked the sleepy conversations at night before they fell asleep, he liked the giggling and the occasional bickering, he liked the sound of John’s steady breathing next to him, he liked seeing John’s face in the morning before he saw anything else. He liked how easy it was, how natural it felt, as though he should have been doing this his entire life.

But a part of him loathed having John in his bed, having him so near, so close that it wouldn't have taken more than a hair’s breadth of movement for them to sleep wrapped around one another. So close that he could feel John’s breath on his skin sometimes. So close that he could count the freckles on John's cheeks if he wanted to (and he had.) So close that they brushed against one another as they switched positions; hands, and hips, and feet, and legs touched and sent jolts of light through Sherlock’s body when they moved and rolled in bed. John hardly seemed to notice but for Sherlock, every time their bodies touched his breath caught in his chest and he could hardly move.

A part of him loathed having John in his bed because it made his chest physically ache to have him here. He was so ridiculously and stupidly in love with this man and sometimes Sherlock thought he would die from the way his body longed for John's.

Then everything changed once more and what Sherlock had thought was the closest thing to perfection he could have ever hoped for somehow got better.

“Turn off the light on your way through,” John requested as Sherlock entered the bedroom.

Sherlock couldn't help the tingle of pleasure that worked its way up his spine at the way John looked sitting up in their bed reading a book. It was such a simple thing but he cherished this moment (and so many others, like the sentimental fool he was). John had his reading glasses on (not that he would ever admit to having to wear them to anyone else) and he looked warm and comfortable in a way that left Sherlock’s very bones settled in his being.

John set his book and his glasses on the nightstand next to the bed and looked over at Sherlock again as he scooched down further into bed. “What’s that face for?”

“What face?” Sherlock asked as he flipped the light switch and climbed into bed on the other side.

John rolled onto his side and Sherlock did the same so they were looking at one another. It was hard to make out all of John’s features in the dark, but Sherlock forced his eyes to adjust so he could read John’s face.

“Dunno,” John said through a yawn. “The face you were just making, it was nice.”

“I’m just content,” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“Only content?” John asked as he tucked a hand under his cheek to prop his face up a bit higher.

“More than content,” Sherlock admitted softly.

“Me too,” John replied.

Sherlock felt his heart flutter in his rib cage, trying for the thousandth time to escape his prison of a body and go to John. He knew it was a foolhardy place for his heart to wish to go, heartbreak was inevitable.

Then without any warning, without any sort of precedent for this sort of behaviour, John reached out and cupped Sherlock’s cheek in his palm.

It was such a small, simple gesture but Sherlock felt his entire body melt into the touch. In this moment he realized he’d spent his entire life positively ravenous for affection. His eyelids fluttered shut and he reached up and covered John’s hand with his own, soaking up this affection like sunshine. He could have stayed suspended in this moment forever.

“Look at you,” John murmured softly, breaking the spell and snapping Sherlock out of the warmth and light radiating from the core of his being.

His eyes snapped open and he looked at John’s face, searching for some indicator of how he felt about what was happening.

“Is it possible that we’ve been blind this whole time?” John murmured, stroking his thumb along Sherlock's cheekbone and Sherlock’s brain, which had ceased to function properly, refused to come up with a suitable meaning for these words.

Then the most incredible thing happened, and Sherlock could scarcely believe it was happening. John leaned forward slowly, so very slowly, and pressed his lips softly against Sherlock’s.

His lips were dry and a little chapped, he was undoubtedly in need of a shave Sherlock noted as John’s stubble rubbed against his chin, and his thumb was calloused where it stroked along Sherlock’s cheek. These were not things that should have been pleasant, but Sherlock had never felt anything so wonderful in all his life. He closed his eyes as the rush of sensations and smells flooded his being. He could smell John’s cologne, their laundry detergent, his shampoo, and something else, something uniquely John that always quieted Sherlock’s soul.

Without another thought, he brought his own hand up to cup John’s face and let his own mouth move clumsily against John’s. Trying desperately to convey that he wanted this, that he didn’t think this was a mistake, that he had wanted this for as long as he could remember.

John leaned back slightly, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s, “Easy,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along Sherlock’s cheek, “We’ve all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock shuddered at the promise but before he could say anything, John’s lips were back on his again. Gentling his movements, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and holding him close. Sherlock relaxed into the contact and let John lead him deeper and deeper into this unknown terrain. Sherlock pressed his palms flat against John’s chest and he could faintly feel his heartbeat thudding along steadily under his hands.

They kissed and kissed until Sherlock couldn’t breathe and his head was fuzzy and still all he wanted was to go right on kissing John; there was nothing he wouldn’t give up in favor of kissing this man. He could hardly believe that this was happening, hardly believe that John was holding and kissing him this way. He didn't ever want it to stop for fear that John would come to his senses and wonder why they'd begun it in the first place.

But it couldn't last forever, John pulled back slightly and ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s arms, “Are you alright?” he whispered.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” John said, one of his hands coming up to brush along Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock assured him again. And he was fine, so much better than fine. He leaned back in and started to kiss John again and John allowed it, continuing to stroke his hands along Sherlock’s back and arms. Then John’s hands slipped under the hem of Sherlock’s t shirt and brushed over the skin of Sherlock’s hip and lower back and Sherlock froze once more, trying to process the stimuli as his entire body ceased motion.

“Alright?” John's voice murmured, interrupting the fireworks exploding through the neurons of Sherlock’s brain.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed, before pressing back in to seal their lips together in a kiss once more and moving his entire body closer to John’s so their legs were entangled and their abdomens were pressing together.

John made a soft groaning noise and Sherlock decided he wanted to hear that noise again, so he let his own hands start to wander, revelling in the slight catch in John’s breath when his hands trailed down John’s back and dipped under the shirt he’d worn to bed.

“Sherlock,” John whispered against his lips and Sherlock shuddered at the way John sounded when he said his name. Completely wrecked, like the only thing attaching him to this world, to this moment was Sherlock. And Sherlock felt just the same.

He'd started sliding Sherlock’s t shirt up his torso, sending a thrill through Sherlock's body that shot straight to his groin, he had just begun to murmur the words, “Can I-” when a wailing noise sounded through the baby monitor making them both jump.

John groaned and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s for a moment, “She has the legitimate worst sense of timing.”

“She’s probably just hungry,” Sherlock said sympathetically.

John nodded, “I’ll take care of her,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to Sherlock’s lips and starting to move out of bed.

“Why don’t you go settle her down and I’ll get a bottle ready,” Sherlock volunteered, not really wanting to stay in bed alone and second guess everything.

“You don’t have to,” John said softly from where he was standing before he leaned in to press another kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “You can wait for me here if you want,” he murmured, his lips brushing tantalizingly against Sherlock.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, climbing out of bed. John stepped up to him once he'd stood and cradled his face in his palms once more to kiss him again and Sherlock melted into his touch. They kissed for a long moment before Rosie let out another angry sounding gurgle.

John drew back, “Right,” he said shaking his head and pulling away from Sherlock. “Upstairs,” he said sounding a bit dazed.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile after him, following him out of the room and heading to the kitchen to heat up some formula. He couldn’t keep the grin from his lips or the warmth from his heart as he replayed those long moments together in his bedroom and he felt a pleasant shiver tickle up his spine at the thought of what might still come. When the formula was ready he took a breath and headed up the stairs to John’s old room.

He came in to find John sitting in the rocker with Rosie cradled in his arms, speaking softly to her as she clasped his fingers in her chubby fist. Sherlock smiled and moved toward John, resting a hand on his shoulder as he handed him the bottle with the other.

John looked up at him and grinned, leaning up to steal a kiss as he took the bottle from him. He got Rosie settled with the bottle in her mouth and looked up at Sherlock who was staring down at the two of them, staring at his entire world.

When their eyes met, John smiled softly, “Hi, you.”

“Hello,” Sherlock replied, feeling a strange mixture of both shy and eager at the same time. Sherlock bit his lip and glanced away toward John’s shoulder. The next thing he knew John's hand was cupping his cheek and drawing Sherlock’s face toward himself once more. Without much thought he leaned down a bit and pressed another kiss to John’s lips which John returned, his tongue sneaking out to run along Sherlock’s bottom lip before he drew back.

“You’re making me act like a kid again,” John said with a rueful shake of his head before looking back down at his daughter.

Sherlock followed his gaze to Rosie who was sucking steadily at the nipple of the bottle but staring up at the two of them. “Well, she’ll need to be used to seeing us together anyway.”

“Has she ever known any different?” John asked, glancing up at Sherlock, “We've always been together expect,” John looked away and swallowed, “Except just after Mary died, but she didn’t see me as much as she should have then either.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, it’s not as though we should be making out in front of her.”

Sherlock stroked a finger along John’s cheek simply because he could before looking down at Rosie again who was reaching out lazily for him, the bottle forgotten. “Here,” he murmured softly, reaching down to lift her from John’s arms. He grabbed the burp cloth from John’s shoulder and laid it over his own before he settled her against his chest so her head could rest on his shoulder, wrapping a blanket around her back. He started to pace, humming softly under his breath as he rocked and swayed to the music unfolding in his mind. He stood looking out the window for a while as he hummed and rocked her, wondering what life would bring them.

He continued until he could feel her slow even breathing, then he turned and moved back to her crib, laying her carefully inside and covering her from the belly down with her blanket. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead before standing up and turning to face John.

John sat in the rocker with his cheek rested on his palm as he watched Sherlock, a soft smile on his lips, his eyes wrinkling in the corners.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sherlock whispered as he moved to take John’s hand and pull him out of the chair.

John let himself be pulled up and he swayed into Sherlock’s body, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, “I’m so in love with you,” he murmured back.

Sherlock shivered and pressed closer to John once again.

John however, had more presence of mind than Sherlock seemed to and he drew back, keeping Sherlock’s hand wrapped in his as he tugged him from the room and back downstairs. Sherlock was about to head into the bedroom when John drew him up short, “Dance with me.”

Sherlock turned and looked over his shoulder at him, “What?”

“You heard me,” John said, “Come dance with me.”

“You’re exhausted,” Sherlock protested, “You said so yourself before we went to bed this evening.”  And truth be told he was rather eager to pick things up where they had left them.

“Not anymore,” John replied.

“There’s no music,” Sherlock informed him.

“I don’t care,” John said, tugging Sherlock into the living room, “You can sing to me.”

“I don’t sing,” Sherlock protested.

“You sing to my daughter,” John pointed out and Sherlock knew he’d been caught.

“She’s an infant,” Sherlock defended, but he allowed himself to be tugged and John took him in his arms, holding him close just the way Sherlock had taught him so long ago. Sherlock humored him and picked up the tune he’d been composing upstairs and began to hum as John leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder and the two of them swayed back and forth losing all sense of time and of meter as they rocked and swayed together. They lost track of anything that wasn’t the two of them in this very moment doing this very thing.

Eventually John pulled back so he could kiss Sherlock again and the swaying stopped as they stood together in the middle of the living room and kissed. Sherlock lost track of how long they stood there, kissing like they had all the time in the world because they did now.

John pulled back eventually, “I should sleep on the couch,” he murmured.

Sherlock pulled back, “What? Why?” he asked incredulously.

John looked up at him and stroked a thumb along Sherlock’s cheek, “I don’t want to rush this.”

“Are you joking?” Sherlock asked, when John didn’t reply Sherlock said, “John I have wanted this, _wanted you_ for years. This is moving at a glacial pace.”

John chuckled but still looked uncertain, “Are you sure? I want to do this right. I want you to feel like you didn’t miss out on anything because to be honest, I’m never going to let you be with anyone else.”

Sherlock laughed, “You're ridiculous. I’m sure. And I don’t want to be with anyone else, I never have and I never will.”

“I don’t know,” John teased gently as he started backing Sherlock toward the bedroom. “Remember Irene Adler?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “She’s almost as in love with the idea of the two of us as I am.”

John shook his head, “What about Molly? You told her you loved her.”

Sherlock smiled, his heart feeling warm and soft at the thought of Molly Hooper, “Molly is a sweet girl. And in a way I do love her, Molly is so soft and kind, she is a beautiful person but I don’t love her in that way and I never could. We talked about it after everything with Eurus.”

“You’re sure about me?” John murmured, sounding surprisingly insecure and Sherlock remembered the way John had believed that Sherlock could have chosen to kill him instead of Mycroft.

“Yes,” Sherlock said softly, leaning in to press his lips to John’s before pulling back. “More sure than I have been of anything else in my life.”

“Hmmm,” John hummed, leaning in and pressing his lips to Sherlock’s. “Well that's rather impressive, isn't it? You've been very certain of so many things in your life.”

“This is different. You are different,” Sherlock murmured.

His back bumped the door frame and he tried to adjust their course so they could make it into the bedroom but John pinned him there, stroking his hands up and down Sherlock’s arms. “You’re a romantic.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock murmured.

John leaned in then and pressed Sherlock back against the door frame so he could kiss him. Sherlock groaned against his lips and let his hands wander down John’s back. He slid his palms up under John’s shirt and John pressed him harder against the wall, Sherlock groaned and drew his body toward him. Then John’s hands were at the hem of his t shirt, drawing the bottom of it up and over Sherlock’s head so his hands could brush along Sherlock’s ribs as he pressed in to kiss him again.

Sherlock tugged John’s t shirt off next and John pressed their bare skin against one another. Sherlock gasped at the feeling of warm skin against his. It set his body ablaze with a fire he had no interest in putting out. “John,” he gasped out in between the hot open mouthed kisses John continued to draw him into.

Then John’s hands were sliding down Sherlock’s body until he reached his thighs, Sherlock shuddered as John reached behind him and lifted him off of the floor, pressing him firmly against the wall and sliding his lips down Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock wrapped his legs tightly around John’s waist and threaded his fingers through John’s hair as he tilted his head back against the wall, and clung to John. He gasped and John held him even tighter.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, because this was all he ever wanted, this was everything he'd ever dreamed of and it was so much more amazing than he could have fathomed. “John,” he whispered brokenly, because it was too much and not enough all at the same time.

At the sound of his name, John leaned forward and dropped his face to the crook of Sherlock’s neck, burying his nose in Sherlock’s skin. He whispered Sherlock’s name, “Let me have you,” John murmured. “Can I-”

“Yes,” Sherlock interrupted without hesitation.

John drew back slightly to look at Sherlock’s face. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll give you anything.” Sherlock stroked his hands along John’s neck and drew him closer with his thighs around his waist. “Everything I am is yours.”

John leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to Sherlock’s lips, “I love you,” he murmured against Sherlock’s lips.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock whispered, tears welling up in his eyes at John’s words.

John let Sherlock’s feet come back to the floor and cupped his face in his palms wiping at the tears with his thumbs. “Come on,” John murmured, taking Sherlock’s hands in his and drawing him off of the wall.

Sherlock groaned and allowed himself to be peeled off of the wall paper.

John cocked a grin at him, “I’ll fuck you against the wall someday if you want me to,” he said with a wink, “Just not our first time.”

Sherlock felt himself blush at the words, stammering something completely unintelligible.

John tugged him into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. They never bothered closing the door, Rosie was too small to come down the stairs and even if she hadn’t been, there had never been a reason she couldn’t have come in their bedroom and Mrs. Hudson never came that far back into the flat, so there’d never been a reason to. But John closing the door felt meaningful, it felt like he was very intentionally closing the two of them off from the rest of the world.

Sherlock toyed with the strings on the waistband of his sweat pants, feeling a bit nervous all of the sudden.

John stepped back into Sherlock's space and brushed his fingers over Sherlock’s collarbone and shoulders before trailing his fingers down Sherlock’s arms. “You are ridiculously beautiful.”

Sherlock blushed and shook his head. He was too skinny and his ribs jutted out where they weren’t supposed to, his face was too long and his head was strangely shaped, his eyes were too many colours and too wide set, his body was covered in scars (particularly his back), and he was far too pale.

John didn’t argue with him, even though Sherlock could tell he wanted to, he just leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s again. “Let me show you,” he murmured as his hands slid down Sherlock’s body until they were settled at Sherlock’s hips, his thumbs stroking along his hip bones and dipping infinitesimally under his waistband. “Is this alright?” John asked against Sherlock’s lips as his finger slid under his waistband.

And it should have been irritating, Sherlock had already told him he could have anything. He’d already said yes to anything (everything) John wanted. But it wasn’t annoying, it was sweet and endearing, it made him feel loved and cherished. John wanted his happiness, his contentment above all things and it made him shudder to think about that sort of care and devotion being directed at him.  He nodded, his nose brushing John’s, and he opened his eyes to look at the other man.

John’s eyes were already open, he was watching Sherlock, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Can I say it again?”

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“That I love you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with smile, “As often as you’d like.”

“Well I do know how you so hate to hear things repeated to you over and over,” John teased as he slid Sherlock’s pajamas down his hips.

Sherlock’s cock bobbed free and he gasped at the sensation of something touching him. “I think I can make an exception,” he told John.

John slipped his own pajama bottoms off and the two of them wrapped themselves together once more, pressing hot flesh against flesh. Sherlock had never felt anything like this. He started kissing his best friend once more, his arms wrapped tightly around John’s back exploring all of the skin he could reach.

John cupped his face in his palms and held him in place while he snogged him completely breathless. Sherlock let his hands trail lower and lower as he clung to John, his fingers digging into dense, compact muscle to help him stay rooted to reality, to remind himself that this was in fact real. And then his hands had drifted low enough that they reached the top of John’s buttocks. He froze, unsure if he was allowed to continue on this path or if he should. But John groaned breathily against Sherlock’s lips, the coordinated movement of his mouth losing its flow as he gasped for breath, and his cock twitched against Sherlock’s hip. “Don't stop,” John whispered.

And so Sherlock let his hands continue to drift further. Rubbing over John’s rounded, muscular bottom. “Yes,” John whispered hotly against Sherlock’s mouth as he pressed up against Sherlock again, his cock leaking precome along Sherlock’s belly. “Feel me,” he encouraged.

Sherlock’s heart stuttered in his chest at the invitation and his hands started to move more confidently over John’s arse, massaging and rubbing at the rounded globes. He let his hands trail down to the back of John’s thighs and John groaned, his body arching into Sherlock’s as he kissed him soundly. Sherlock brought his hands back up and let them smooth over John’s sides, feeling John’s ribs and then reaching his hips before giving in to the temptation to let his hands slide to John’s arse once more.

John nodded, making the kiss a bit sloppy and uncoordinated for a moment before he started talking again. “Touch me,” John pleaded, his breathing coming ragged and harsh against Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock reveled in the effect he’d had over John.

“I am,” Sherlock said, his own voice coming out broken and desperate sounding as he grasped John’s hips in his fingers again, stroking his thumb over the sharp bone.

“No,” John murmured, letting one of his hands move from Sherlock’s face to clasp Sherlock’s hand in his. He drew Sherlock’s hand back to his buttocks and slid it in between, pressing Sherlock’s fingers to his hole and gasping against Sherlock’s lips. “Here,” John begged. “Touch me here.”

Sherlock shuddered at the invitation, his own cock aching and throbbing against John’s belly. He took his middle and forefinger and rubbed over John’s hole, obviously not pressing in but rubbing and sliding up and down between John’s cheeks.

“Uhhn,” John gasped inarticulately, grasping Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissing him sloppily. “Yes, Sherlock. Oh, please,” he whispered in between kisses. “Yes, touch me,” he begged again. Sherlock obliged him, of course he did, rubbing circles around John’s hole pressing firmly but not hard enough to breech him. “Oh,” John moaned against Sherlock’s mouth. “Yes.”

John’s small words of encouragement were enough to ratchet Sherlock’s pulse up another notch, his heart pounding in his throat. The tips of his toes tingled and his balls had drawn up high and tight to his body. Everything felt so amazing that his body physically hurt.

And then John did something incredibly stupid. One of his hands released Sherlock’s face and dropped between them where it grasped Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock gasped and it was already too late, he shuddered and would have surely doubled over as his orgasm washed through him had it not been for the fact that John’s was standing in front of him supporting him. Sherlock let out a pained wailing noise and John groaned against his lips, his hand fisting Sherlock’s cock and stroking him while Sherlock came all over their bellies, his hands clinging to John’s shoulders for support.

“That’s it,” John encouraged as he worked Sherlock through his orgasm. “Fuck, you’re stunning, you beautiful, beautiful man. I love you.”

Sherlock sobbed against John’s lips, his entire body overcome with a myriad of emotions; bliss, ecstasy, relief, pleasure so acute it bordered on painful. But there was the other side too, shame and sadness that it was over so quickly, disappointment that they hadn’t done anything really, frustration, and such mortification. “I’m sorry,” he gasped even as his cock squirted out weakly once more in John’s fist. “Shit. I’m sorry."  He tried to pull away, he needed to get something to clean them up, he needed to get away from this room, away from his failure and compose himself. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured again.

But John wouldn’t let him move away, “Stop,” he murmured firmly as he wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s back and continued to cup his face with the hand that hadn’t been touching his cock. “Shhh. Don’t be sorry,” he said, stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock groaned, “I just ruined everything, let go.”

“Never,” John said softly but firmly and Sherlock felt his lips brush over his own. “You’ve ruined nothing, you stunning, perfect creature. You’re incredible and I love you. I love what your body and mind are capable of. You are unbelievably attractive.”

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes clenched shut against the inevitable look of disappointment on John’s face, the further his orgasm receded the worse he felt. “I wanted our first time to be perfect.”

“Sherlock open your eyes, look at me,” John said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

Sherlock let one eye open warily, John was smiling softly at him, his forehead rested against Sherlock’s. “That was ridiculously hot. You are ridiculously hot.” He stroked Sherlock’s curls. “Please don’t be upset, that was amazing and I love you.”

“You’re really not upset?” Sherlock asked.

“I’m really not upset,” John assured him, leaning in to press his lips to Sherlock’s once more. And he really didn’t look upset, he didn’t seem anything other than happy and perhaps a bit smug. “Besides,” John said, leaning back slightly and drawing Sherlock over to their bed, “I have full faith in your ability to have another erection if you prepare me slowly enough.”

Sherlock found himself groaning, his cock twitching in feeble interest at the thought. He pressed John back onto the bed but stayed standing himself and looked down at the other man. John was beautiful, his hair mussed and cheeks warm, his eyes were soft but glowing with a fire that Sherlock could help but long for. He let his eyes trail over John’s body from head to toe, he was perfect. Sherlock decided to tell him so, he looked up at John, meeting his eyes again and John smiled at him. Sherlock lost his capacity for words, “I-” he started, “You’re-” he shook his head and John just grinned up at him, taking his hand and drawing him into bed.

“I feel the same about you, you know,” John said with a smile, stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

“How can you tell? I can’t get words to come out,” Sherlock grumbled.

John grinned and kissed Sherlock, still smiling against his lips and Sherlock all but melted into him. “Because,” John said, drawing back slightly and running his fingertips up Sherlock’s spine, “I know you, I know what your being speechless means and I take it as quite a compliment.  And because I'm completely head over heels crazy about you and I desperately hope you share the sentiment."

“That logic seems a bit flawed,” Sherlock said.

John shrugged and tugged Sherlock so he was laying on top of him, cradled between his thighs. Sherlock stroked his fingertips along John’s face and John rubbed his hands over Sherlock’s back. Sherlock ran a finger along John’s nose and then let the pads of his forefinger and middle finger brush along John’s lips.

John pressed his lips against the tips of Sherlock’s fingers before parting his lips and taking Sherlock’s fingers into his mouth. He maintained eye contact with Sherlock as he sucked at his fingers, flicking his tongue along the underside of his digits. Sherlock’s cheeks warmed again and he felt his cock give a twitch against John’s hip.

John released his fingers and grinned up at Sherlock, “I’ve all the faith in the world you’ll manage another erection.”

Sherlock shook his head, pressing his lips to John’s once more. They laid that way for a long time, touching one another and kissing one another, revelling in the way the other one felt. Hands mapped out bodies, searching for sensitive spaces, searching for places that dipped pleasingly or felt especially soft. Mouths pressed against one another and slid to bordering cheeks and occasionally chins and necks and jaws.

Sherlock learned that John had an affinity for his hair if the way his fingers continued to come back and stroke through it was anything to go by. John's touches were gentle, almost bordering on reverent, and they made Sherlock's heart ache in his chest; he could only hope his touches conveyed his affections as well as John's conveyed his.

Occasionally, Sherlock found himself feeling guilty about the erection pressing against his hip so he’d reach between their bodies to stroke John or to press against John’s hole.  But each time he did John would shake his head. “Not yet,” he’d whisper and then he’d start to kiss Sherlock and Sherlock would melt against John again.

But eventually John started to squirm under him, his breath started coming quicker, and his lips moving more sloppily over Sherlock's.

“Can I touch you now?” Sherlock asked pressing his lips to John’s cheek then sliding his lips down to nibble at John’s ear.

John nodded and pushed at Sherlock until he moved so John could get up. Sherlock watched as John rolled over and pressed up so he was on his hands and knees, the other half of his body ready for Sherlock to devour.

Sherlock moved so he was kneeling behind him and ran his palms down John's back and thighs. Listening as John let out a shuddering sigh, “Please, Sherlock.”

Suddenly feeling a bit nervous Sherlock said, “You do know I've never done this before, right?”

John groaned and Sherlock immediately felt the need to explain, to justify himself so that John would still want to do this, “But I have a fully functional knowledge of the mechanics of penetration.”

“Mmmh. Talk dirty to me,” John replied.

Sherlock swallowed, “I’m not sure I know how.”

John laughed and looked over his shoulder at Sherlock, “I love you, you know that?”

Sherlock nodded, “I'm starting to.”

“Do you want me to walk you through preparing me?” John asked.

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, “If you want to. If it won’t make this terrible for you.”

“I love you,” John said again.

“I love you too,” Sherlock replied, in a business like manner. “Does that mean you want to tell me what to do or does that mean you want me to navigate this myself.”

“It means I love you,” John replied. “It means I find your mannerisms ridiculously endearing. I will do my best to walk you through it, but I don't think you’ll really need it.” John reached over into the drawer on his side of the bed and pulled out the lube.

Now, Sherlock was incredibly nosy, he'd known John had lube stored in the bedside table because he had found in there once when he was snooping. It had given him loads of mental images that he really hadn’t needed at the time and he'd done his best not to think about them, especially given that he and John platonically shared a bed.

But as John tossed the lube at him and it hit Sherlock in the middle of the chest, Sherlock was getting lost in all of the thoughts he’d had when he'd found the lube and the fact that they could now become a reality.

“If you could focus on the sex we’re trying to have, that would be appreciated,” John said with a laugh.

Sherlock rubbed his hands over John’s bottom, making John groan, “I was thinking about all of the potential sex we are going have.”

John groaned and dropped his head to the pillow in front of him. Sherlock watched as John made himself comfortable, resting his head on his forearms. Sherlock couldn’t help but run his hands up the slope of John’s spine until he reached his buttocks again. He cupped the globes of John’s arse in his palms and massaged it.

“Right,” John said breathily, “You should-” he started and Sherlock spread John’s buttocks. “Yes,” John choked out, “That. Now touch-” Sherlock started to rub his dry fingers over John’s hole the way he had not terribly long ago when the two of them had been standing together. John groaned, “Yes.”

He was silent then as Sherlock continued to tease him, rubbing his fingers over that tiny pucker of flesh and marveling at the fact that John was not only willing to let him but wanted him to put his cock through there. It looked so small, Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about the prospect of pushing something as large as his cock into something as tiny as John’s anus.

“Stop worrying,” John complained.

“I’m not worrying,” Sherlock said with a huff.

“Yes you are,” John replied, “Look how tentative your touches just got. This is not my first time bottoming, Sherlock. Trust me, it’ll fit.”

Sherlock huffed, “I don't like it when you know what I’m thinking, you make me feel dumb.”

John laughed, “Welcome to my entire existence. But you are anything but dumb, my love. Your brilliance continually astounds me and to be honest I’d be worried if this was your first time and you weren’t afraid of hurting me.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s spine, “I love you,” he murmured against the skin there. Overcome with the truth of that statement.

“I love you, too, now please get some lube.”

Sherlock did as John asked and picked up the lube. He coated his fingers in it but didn’t press into John’s hole right away. He started rubbing over his hole again, making the flesh between John’s buttocks nice and slick.

John groaned, “Yes, please put your fingers inside of me.”

“Not yet,” Sherlock replied.

John whimpered and Sherlock was tempted, but he wanted this to be as painless as possible so he continued rubbing and stroking his fingers over John’s hole. John was squirming and gasping every time Sherlock’s fingers all but brushed over his hole by the time Sherlock decided to press a finger inside of him. He inserted the tip of his pointer finger and John cried out.

“You’re not particularly quiet during sex, are you?” Sherlock asked, glad that his arousal was simmering low in his belly so he could thoroughly enjoy watching John lose control this way.

“Sorry,” John groaned. “Quiet during sex has never been a strong suit. Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock replied. “I quite enjoy it.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sacrum.

“Thank fuck for that,” John said, groaning as Sherlock pressed his finger in a bit further before pausing and waiting for John’s muscles to relax around it again. “Sherlock, please,” he groaned. “Please don’t stop.”

Sherlock rubbed soothingly at the strip of flesh under John’s hole. Well, at least he thought it would be soothing but John’s entire body jerked at the contact and Sherlock’s entire finger was swallowed by his hole. John moaned loudly and clenched and unclenched his muscles around Sherlock’s finger, “Yes, oh fuck. Yes.”

“What just happened?” Sherlock asked, at a completely loss for why John was that sensitive there.

“That little bit of skin you just rubbed?” John said through his panting, “My prostate is on the other side of that. Someday, I’ll let you make me come by rubbing right there on the outside and stuffing two fingers inside of me and rubbing my prostate from the inside. You won’t even need to touch my cock.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, intrigued.

John nodded against the pillow, “Yes, now move your finger.”

Sherlock hummed and did just that, thrusting his finger in and out of John’s hole slowly, carefully. After a few minutes of this he added more lube and continued until John’s hole didn’t clench around his finger at all as he thrust in and out. “Sherlock please, you are killing me.”

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked in concern.

“I need more, please, more,” John groaned. “Or I’m going to take your hand and I’m going to hold it still while I fuck myself on it.”

“I... What?” Sherlock asked, his mind filling itself with images of John holding Sherlock’s hand steady while he thrust back on it and lost himself.

“Second finger. Inside of me. Right now,” John said.

Whether he was being obedient because of the way John issued to command or because he was still taken with the idea of John fucking himself he wasn’t entirely sure, but he carefully inserted a second finger.

“Unnggh,” John groaned out, “Yes, Sherlock. Please,” he begged.

And Sherlock felt his own cock twitching feebly with John’s words, it had risen to almost half hardness by the time he’d stretched and spread John’s hole enough to get a third finger inside of him. John turned to look at Sherlock over his shoulder, “You have to stop.”

“Sorry, what?” Sherlock asked, his fingers continuing and to thrust in and out. He very gently brushed over John’s prostate.

John’s hole clenched around Sherlock’s fingers and he watched in delight as John’s toes curled in pleasure. “You have to stop,” he begged.

Sherlock stopped and withdrew his fingers, John groaned piteously and rested his forehead on his arms for a moment and Sherlock was very tempted to press his fingers back inside of John again. But then John was moving, he tossed a pillow onto the floor before rolling himself off of the bed and onto his knees on the pillow. “Come here,” he said.

Sherlock cocked his head but started to climb off the bed as well, unsure why they needed to get out.

“No,” John said gently, “You stay sitting, just come here.”

He moved so he was sitting next to John, still a little confused about what was going on.

John tugged his legs apart and settled in between his thighs. John stroked his hands along Sherlock’s thighs and Sherlock felt his cock swell slightly at John’s proximity. John leaned in and started at Sherlock’s left knee and kissed his way up the inside of Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock felt his breath start to come a little quicker as John got closer and closer to his cock.

But just as John was almost at Sherlock’s cock, he turned and repeated the process with Sherlock’s right leg. John leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crease between Sherlock’s thigh and groin and Sherlock’s heart nearly stopped. “You don’t have to do this,” Sherlock said through a groan.

John looked up at him, “Do you not want me to?”

Sherlock laughed, “No, I do. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“The feelings I have about sucking your cock have absolutely nothing to do with obligation. Power, maybe; lust, definitely; affection, without a doubt; but I certainly don’t feel any obligation whatsoever,” John said as his forefinger traced absently down the length of Sherlock’s prick.

“What do you mean power?” Sherlock asked, his mind divided between curiosity and the complete desire to shut up so John would put his mouth on him.

“Have you ever given a blow job?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

“Have you ever been on the receiving end of one?” John ventured gently.

“No,” he murmured a little self consciously.

John rubbed his hands along Sherlock's thighs. “Well, as someone who has participated in oral sex both giving and receiving with both genders, I can safely tell you that the person who has the most control is the one in charge of giving pleasure. I decide how to touch you,” John murmured as he leaned in and pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to the head of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock gasped and his head dropped back. “I decide how long I touch you,” John said, licking a stripe up Sherlock’s cock and making Sherlock whimper. “I decide how high I ratchet up your pleasure. I can suck hard,” John murmured taking the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth and doing just that. “Or I can keep my mouth soft and loose and drive you completely mad with how phenomenal it feels without ever being quite enough.” He demonstrated that and Sherlock’s hands reflexively came up to thread through John’s hair. John drew back after a moment, “People, dominant men in particular, seem to think that sex is all about power and it can be sometimes, but what they fail to realize is that the person they often see as the weaker of the two roles really controls what happens and how it happens. So yes, this,” he said nodding to Sherlock’s cock, “Is a little bit about power and control, and my ability to make you completely and totally lose it.”

Then before Sherlock could say anything else, he barely had a moment to think that John was rather brilliant in his own right, before John was leaning forward and he took Sherlock’s cock into his mouth. Sherlock had never felt anything quite as amazing as the way John’s mouth felt on his penis. John’s tongue was hot and wet and constantly in motion on his member, his mouth was soft and loose sometimes and then he was sucking hard enough that Sherlock wanted nothing more than to thrust with abandon into that heat. (He didn’t, of course, at least not any more than a few helpless twitches of his hips, he did know some etiquette when it came to sex) He loved the way John’s hair felt slipping through his fingers while John bobbed his head.

It was an almost embarrassingly short amount of time before Sherlock’s cock reached full hardness. John drew back and stroked his hand along Sherlock’s spit slicked cock, “That’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Just look at you, you incredible man.”

“John I hardly think you should call me incredible for something my body does fairly involuntarily.” Sherlock said, then he quickly went on to amend his statement lest John get the wrong impression, “Not that I don’t want to have sex with you,” he stammered. “I do, I really do, it’s just that my body is merely responding to stimuli the way it’s meant to. It’s not incredible by any means.”

John smiled at him and rose from his knees, pressing Sherlock over onto his back and climbing up to straddle his hips. “Sherlock you orgasmed an hour ago. The last time I had an orgasm less than four hours apart was when I was 26. Your refractory period is stunning.”

Sherlock reached up and ran his hands along John’s arms and shoulders before sliding down his sides so he could grasp John’s hips. Sherlock looked up at him, “I’ve also had far less practice controlling my libido.”

“And what a lovely thing that is,” John commented as he leaned down and kissed Sherlock soundly. Sherlock rested his hands over John’s where they were pressed against his chest to steady himself. John pulled back slightly, “I plan to take full advantage of that.”

He then drew back further and reached for the lube, he squirted it on his own fingers and Sherlock watched in rapt attention as John pressed his fingers up into his own hole. “That’s my job,” Sherlock complained as he ran his hands up and down John’s thighs.

“That’s true,” John replied around the gasp escaping his throat. “But it's much quicker if I re-stretch myself.”

But Sherlock didn’t particularly care about what was more efficient, he only wanted to touch John and to be touched by John. “I don't really care about quicker,” Sherlock murmured. “We could do this all night and I wouldn't complain. I never want this to end,” he confessed softly.

John's hand froze and he stared down at Sherlock. Sherlock blushed under his gaze, “Sorry. I'll shut up now.”

John pulled his hand free of his body and grabbed a tissue so he could wipe his hand, “Are you even real?” Sherlock felt himself blush furiously at John's words and awkwardly cleared his throat, glancing away from John. Turning his face with his palm, John dropped his lips to Sherlock's, pressing against his lips for a long moment and making Sherlock's heart skip a beat. “I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much,” John whispered against Sherlock's lips. “Everything you do is ridiculously endearing.”

Sherlock brushed his nose along John's and let his hands trail over John's back. “Give it a couple of hours and I'll be back to driving you insane.”

John laughed, “I'll still love you just like I always have. Besides,” he said with a breathy groan as Sherlock cupped his bottom in his palms, “Just imagine all of the new ways you're going to have to make me crazy.” He kissed Sherlock again and pressed back into his palms.

Releasing John's bottom with one hand he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the lube. He awkwardly uncapped it and John wiggled against him, “Do you want me to move so you can see better?” he asked.

“I think I can manage,” he replied but then the tube squirted out too large of an amount and it missed Sherlock's fingers entirely and landed between John's buttocks, making John jump. “Sorry,” Sherlock said with a cringe. “I'm so sorry.”

John started to giggle and then he pressed his lips against Sherlock's, and he couldn't help but think that it was amazing that being with John this way could possibly be this easy. “It's fine,” John said. “Don’t be sorry, sex is messy and if you get caught up in the small stupid stuff you’ll miss all of the good parts. Just put it to go use.”

He did just that. Using one hand, he pried apart John's buttocks and with the other he scooped up some of the lube and brought it back to John's hole.

“Mmmh, yes,” John groaned, leaning forward and letting his head rest in the crook of Sherlock's neck where he nibbled at the sensitive skin there. Sherlock pressed one finger in and began to thrust gently in and out. “Oh, yes,” John groaned into Sherlock’s skin, “Just like that, you’re perfect. Please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned his head a kissed the skin he could reach which happened to be John’s ear. John shuddered at the touch and Sherlock decided some further investigation was definitely called for so he sucked John’s earlobe between his teeth, running his tongue featherlight over the soft flesh before nibbling at it.

John let out a piteous groan, “Uggnnh, yes. You would know my ears are sensitive,” John groaned again and his fingers clenched around Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock began thrusting in and out of John’s hole, “Oh, put another finger inside of me, please sweetheart. I need you,” he whimpered.

Sherlock pressed a second finger into John’s anus then, he couldn’t imagine keeping the man waiting when he'd asked so sweetly. John nodded against his neck, his hips pressing back and angling different ways.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered. “For as long as I can remember. From that very first night when you didn't condemn me for being a recovering addict. When you shot someone without a single thought just to save my life.”

“Sherlock,” John whispered, brokenly. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't know how,” he confessed, continuing to move his fingers and stretch John wider. “And I didn't think you felt the same.”

John leaned back so their eyes could meet, “I felt the same. It almost killed me when you died. I didn't want to live without you. I never want to live without you.”

“I'll never leave you again,” Sherlock murmured, leaning up to press his lips to John's. “I'm yours for as long as you'll have me.”

He crooked his fingers and whatever John was going to say was lost. John groaned and his finger slid under Sherlock's shoulders so he could grip the other man. “Please,” he whispered desperately.

“I don't think I can ever deny you anything,” he murmured back, rubbing his fingers over his prostate.

John groaned but then panted, “Will you do something for me, then?”

“Anything,” Sherlock whispered, already planning out all of the things John might ask for in bed. He was a rather experienced bedmate and Sherlock was curious about what sorts of proclivities he had.

But instead of asking for something interesting, the words, “Will you buy the damn milk the next time we run out?” came out of John's mouth.

Sherlock's fingers froze as he processed what he'd just said and then they both burst out giggling. “You're ridiculous.”

“I just want you to know that what happens in the bedroom extends to the rest of our lives,” John said, circling his hips and pressing back against Sherlock's fingers.

“If you promise not to make it boring I will try to go with you on occasion.”

“Deal. Now keep stretching,” John said.

It was no hardship to obey. He could have continued this forever; he could have laid here and listened to the noises John made, watched the way his cheeks flushed, and felt their skin press together for eternity. He tried to store all of the little bits about John away into his mind so he'd be able to recall them later.

But as it stood John was not as willing nor able to be as patient as Sherlock was in this matter; he had begun thrusting back on Sherlock’s fingers with gusto, fucking himself surely and steadily. Finally John sat up entirely, dislodging Sherlock’s fingers and groaning piteously, “Right,” he said. “Give me that lube,” he said pointing at the bottle on the pillow beside Sherlock.

Sherlock did as he was asked and John slicked up Sherlock's cock, Sherlock groaned and his hips arched up off the bed. John smirked down at him, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded, watching as John started to reposition himself over Sherlock’s cock, holding it steady in his hand and rubbing his hole with the head. Sherlock and John both let out groans in tandem at the way it felt, “Are you ready?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

John leaned down and kissed him once more before he sat up and pressed the tip of Sherlock’s cock into his hole. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John’s hips and tried desperately to stay still as John sank down excruciatingly slowly on his cock. By the time John had finally sunk down all the way the two of them were drenched in sweat and their chests were heaving with the effort their care had taken.

“You feel-” Sherlock started before his voice cut off and he realized he didn’t have the words for it anyway. “You feel amazing,” he whispered. “Like this is the only place I’m ever supposed to be, like this is the only thing I’m ever supposed to feel.”

John leaned down and Sherlock groaned at the way it felt to have friction on his member. “You’re incredible,” John murmured. “I can’t believe this is happening.” John pressed their lips together, leisurely rocking his hips a few inches at a time. “I love you,” he murmured his lips brushing along Sherlock’s.

It was too hot, too wet, too messy; it should have felt overwhelming but it was perfect and it was everything Sherlock had ever wanted. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John’s hips and began rocking in and out of John’s body as John rocked his hips in time with him, both of them groaning and panting as they searched for the best angle. Sherlock let his hands wander along John’s body, squeezing his shoulders and raking his nails down John’s spine as John hissed and arched into Sherlock. He cupped John’s bottom in his palms and John groaned, his steady thrusting along Sherlock’s cock slowing and stuttering.

“You’re surprisingly sensitive,” Sherlock commented through a groan as John’s teeth found their way to his neck and set to nibbling at the skin there.

“What is that supposed to mean?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said, moving his hands to hold John’s hips again so he could thrust a bit harder. “I just wasn’t anticipating it.”

John shook his head, “I love sex,” John told him. “I love the way it feels, I love the way it makes me feel like another person and I are just one person. I love the way it translates in my body. I let myself be open to it,” John said with a shrug, “I want to feel it so I do.”

“I just think I’m sensitive,” Sherlock murmured, deciding it was high time they switched positions. He rolled the two of them then, disconnecting and repositioning them so that John could be on his knees with Sherlock behind him the way they’d started. “Is this alright?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded, “Yes, so much better than alright as long as you get your cock inside of me.”

“Pushy, pushy,” Sherlock murmured, but he didn’t mean it and John knew it.

Sherlock pressed in again, groaning at how fantastic John felt wrapped around him. He settled all of the way inside of John and then did a few experimental thrusts, “How do I find your prostate?”

John groaned, “Uhmm, that’s a tricky one. There’s no great way to find it except by trying different angles. You’re going to want to angle down a bit,” John told him. “But honestly, Sherlock, even if you don’t hit my prostate I’ll still come.”

“But it will feel better if I hit your prostate, right?” Sherlock questioned, even as he began rocking in and out at different angles.

“Theoretically,” John murmured, “But it’s hard to find a prostate with a penis. I’ve had many thoroughly satisfying orgasms that were not brought on by prostate stimulation. Probably more without having my prostate touched than with,” John confessed.

Sherlock mostly ignored him, angling differently and thrusting at different depths and speeds. Eventually he made John lean forward so his back was arched; his forearms resting on the mattress and his bottom in the air. Sherlock laid himself over John's back and thrust, thinking he was going to have to give up when John murmured, “Still set on finding my prostate?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said stubbornly through gritted teeth; John’s body felt so incredible every thrust, every angle felt better than the last. Sherlock’s entire body was on fire and he felt vaguely light headed.

“I have an idea,” John murmured.

“Okay,” Sherlock prompted trying to get John to spit it out.

“Lay on your side,” John said. Sherlock pulled out to do as John had asked and John cried out in despair.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Sherlock said as John laid on his side too and pressed his arse into the cradle of Sherlock’s pelvis; sliding back until his back was pressed firmly against Sherlock’s chest.

“I know,” John said with a groan. John lifted his leg and reached behind himself to grasp Sherlock’s still slick cock and press it against his hole. “But I want you.”

Sherlock’s cock throbbed at the words, or maybe it was at the way John was pressing back on his cock and surrounding him once again; either way it was exquisite.

“Hold me,” John murmured.

Obliging him was only too easy, Sherlock slid his right arm under John’s neck and wrapped it around his torso and his left arm reached down to rub along John’s thigh and hip. He buried his nose in the crook between John’s shoulder and neck and pressed kisses to the skin there. “I love you,” he murmured, and he loved this position.

John’s left hand crossed over Sherlock’s arm so he could grip Sherlock’s hip and grind back against him. “I love you, too,” he replied.

Sherlock hardly heard him, though, because of how spectacular it felt to have John grinding against his cock. “Fuck,” he murmured. He drew his hips back and snapped them into John. Then John’s entire body clenched down around Sherlock’s cock and John let forth a stream of profanities mixed with Sherlock's name so loud that Sherlock had absolutely no doubt he’d managed to find his prostate.

"There," John moaned. "Yes, right there," he begged even though Sherlock hadn't moved yet.

Sherlock would be lying if he said he didn't feel smug and incredibly pleased with himself. He braced himself and started pressing slowly in and out of John's body, John let out a steady stream of moans and whimpers. And Sherlock couldn't help himself, he reached around John's waist and stroked John's cock.

John groaned but his hand was moving to grasp Sherlock’s hand and pull it off his cock, “You’re going to make me come,” he groaned, his body shuddering under Sherlock’s, his hole clenching hard around his cock, and his breath coming out in pants.

“I thought that was the entire premise of sex,” Sherlock said, his own hips starting to move faster and harder, snapping into John and then drawing out more slowly. He was sure he wasn’t hitting John’s prostate on every stroke but he was often enough that John was a sweating babbling mess and that seemed good enough.

“It is,” John said with a groan at what Sherlock imagined was a particularly well placed thrust.

“Then I don’t understand,” Sherlock grumbled, sucking at the skin on John’s shoulder and making John cry out again.

“I don’t want to come yet,” John said, “I want you to be closer first. I get really sensitive after an orgasm and you finishing inside of me will not be pleasant if I come too soon.”

Sherlock groaned, his cock twitching inside of John’s body at the thought of spilling inside of John. He kept it up, luxuriating in the noises his movements wrung out of John’s mouth; his thrusts started to get a little less even as he continued, his body feeling closer and closer to the edge.

“Are you close?” John asked, perhaps begged might have been a better word for that tone of voice.

Sherlock nodded against John’s shoulder, shuddering against John as John’s body spasmed around his cock. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Sherlock,” John groaned, and Sherlock slid his hand down John’s hip until he could grasp John’s cock in his fist. “Yes,” John cried out. “Oh. Don’t stop,” he begged, “Sherlock please don’t stop.”

Sherlock nodded shakily, trying to continue thrusting but John’s hole was clenching harder around his cock with every stroke and he lost it. His teeth clenched down onto John’s shoulder as he came and his fist clenched tighter around John’s cock. He wasn’t sure which thing it was that triggered it, but then John was coming, too, crying out and practically sobbing as Sherlock fought to keep his brain focused enough to stroke John’s cock through his orgasm.

Finally John’s hand closed over Sherlock’s and he stilled it, “Fucking hell,” John murmured, sliding Sherlock’s hand up his abdomen so Sherlock was embracing him.

Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck, exhaling shakily as he tried to catch his breath and fight against some unnameable emotions rising up in his throat.

John covered Sherlock’s hands with his right hand and reached back with his left to stroke through Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock lost it, his breath hitching as as sob escaped and tears started to trickle from the corner of his eyes. John had extricated himself from Sherlock’s arms in a moment and rolled so he was facing Sherlock, pulling him into his arms and tucking his head under his chin.

John rocked him, “I’ve got you,” he murmured and Sherlock felt him press soft kisses to the crown of his head. John held him and rocked him and Sherlock fell apart completely; his body was shaking and he had tears pouring out of his eyes, he was a complete mess but John didn’t seem to mind and it made it worse.

Finally Sherlock exhaled shakily and pulled himself together, “Sorry,” he mumbled into John’s skin.

“S’alright,” John murmured, stroking his hands up and down Sherlock’s back soothingly. “That was pretty intense.”

Sherlock nodded and stayed still for a few minutes longer before finally drawing back a bit so he could look at John’s face. He scanned his face for traces of his emotions, hoping to ascertain what he was thinking and feeling but John leaned in and pressed their lips together before he could get a read. Then he drew back, “I’m so ridiculously content,” John murmured. “I’m stupidly in love and crazy happy, that was fantastic; you are fantastic. I love you.”

Sherlock huffed at John knowing what he’d been looking for, “I love you, too,” he grumbled.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” John said with a grin as he leaned in and started pressing kisses all over Sherlock’s face and neck.

Sherlock laughed and tipped his head back to give John more room, “I do,” Sherlock protested.

“Good,” John replied, drawing him close again.

They were quiet for a while, just enjoying being close to one another, Sherlock had started to count the breaths that John drew, slow and steady. Truthfully, they’d both begun drifting off a bit, in that blissful place between dreaming and awake when Rosie started to wail again.

John groaned, “Uggh, no,” he whined, “I’m so comfortable.”

“I’ll get her,” Sherlock murmured softly, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead as he slid out of bed.

“Kiss,” John demanded, reaching up for Sherlock in much the way his daughter did, if with slightly different intents.

Sherlock stooped back toward the bed and John cradled his cheek in his palm, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “I’ll change the sheets while you take care of her,” he murmured when Sherlock pulled back.

Sherlock nodded at him and headed to the door, when he got there he turned and grinned devilishly at John who had already stood up and started stripping the bed, “Then we can go for round two,” Sherlock said with a wink.

**Author's Note:**

> The end. I hope you enjoyed this little drabble. :)


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